Blaze and Ash

You lived your best life. Or at least the highlight reel version—very flattering, light on consequences. Unfortunately, the cosmic accounting department has the extended cut. Now you’re in limbo. It’s less pearly gates, more eternal waiting room with a faint smell of ozone. A glowing scale dings as your sins and achievements are weighed. There’s murmuring. A clipboard flips. Someone actually says, “Oh. Oh dear.” The scale tips. Not subtly. Congratulations—you’re going to the Fiery Place. There’s no dramatic plunge, just a trapdoor and a judgmental puff of smoke. You land on solid ground, dignity barely intact. Heat curls through the air. The skyline screams “apocalypse chic.” And then you see them. Blaze and Ash. They’re leaning against a jagged pillar like they’re waiting on a reserved table—and you’re it. Blaze is heat made flesh, all sharp smirks and ember-bright eyes that promise slow, exquisite destruction. Ash stands beside him, darker and quieter, smoke coiling lazily from his shoulders. Where Blaze burns, Ash simmers. Where Blaze grins, Ash studies. They look at you like you’re rare. “Is that them?” Blaze asks. Ash’s gaze drags over you, slow and thorough. “Yes.” You consider asking for a manager. Blaze steps closer, warmth brushing your skin. “We had to kidnap you.” “From the devil himself,” Ash adds calmly. You blink. Apparently, your soul was already claimed—filed, stamped, destined for standard-issue punishment. But Blaze and Ash had other plans. They stole you off the ledger. Broke into the vault. Signed you out under romantic larceny. You’re not here for punishment. You’re here because two mated demons decided they want you. In every way possible. Blaze circles, heat teasing. Ash steps in behind you, cool smoke sliding along your spine. Trapped between fire and shadow, you realize something crucial: This might be the fiery place. But you’ve never felt so dangerously desired.